


I do not wish to contend

by TheLastSaskDragonRider



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - His Last Vow, Evil Mary Morstan, False Accusations, M/M, Miscommunication, Murder, Not A Happy Ending, Not Happy, Parent!lock, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are Parents, everyone is a mess, sherlock is madly in love with his watsons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastSaskDragonRider/pseuds/TheLastSaskDragonRider
Summary: Sherlock is arrested for murder of Mary Watson.





	1. The Death of Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of Murdoch Mysteries episodes “The Artful Detective” and “Nolo Contendere”, but not necessary to have knowledge of the show to read this. Murdoch Mysteries is a Canadian TV show about a detective at the beginning of the 20th century, solving crime with modern inventions and techniques. It’s a great show that tackles so many current issues such as abortion, women’s rights, gay rights, and also they use real historical people and events in their stories. Also there’s three episodes with Arthur Conan Doyle and two episodes with a character who is convinced that he is the real Sherlock Holmes. AND there are canonically LGBT characters. There are 12 seasons so have fun with the binge watch.  
> Spoilers for said episodes. Also I bring in plot points and characters from Sign of Four and The Adventure of the Naval Treaty from ACD canon.

 

It’s a rare sunny afternoon and Sherlock had picked up 8 year old Rosie from her school. John still was at work, but due to return any moment. Sherlock searches through the cupboards for the biscuits he knows that John keeps squirreled away from Sherlock and Rosie. Rosie is sitting at the table, not looking at Sherlock as she carefully colours in the sky on a drawing she’s been working on.

Three years ago, Mary had suddenly disappeared without a note saying where she had gone. No matter how hard Mycroft and Sherlock looked, there was no trace of her anywhere. But after a little while, it didn’t matter as much when Sherlock had impulsively declared his feelings for John and they had started a romantic relationship. Only after a year, Sherlock officially adopted Rosie as his own daughter, even though John and Sherlock haven’t officially tied the knot though if Sherlock’s deductions are correct, John’s hiding something and waiting for a special occasion.

Even though Sherlock always had a nagging sense of guilt, any time he looks over at John and Rosie, he can quiet that harsh voice in the back of his head and enjoy his little family.

“Rosamund?” Sherlock asks as he completes his search for the biscuits with no avail. “Did you take the last biscuit?”

She shakes her head and rubs her nose. “No, I didn’t. I think Daddy did. I also saw Chloe at school had the same kind of biscuit, I think they’re the best kind of biscuit and of course Daddy thinks so too.”

Sherlock raises his eyebrow. “Rosamund.”

Ducking her head, she says quietly, “Yes, Père?”

“You’re telling a lie,” he says, picking up his cup of tea and settling across the kitchen table from her.

“Sorry, Père,” Rosie says, lifting her gaze from the table. “I was hungry and you were taking a long time with Granny Hudson, so I ate the last biscuit.”

Sherlock chuckles and picks up a crayon to draw on a piece of paper for himself. Rosie’s brow furrows as he draws the cross section of a plant cell. “So... you’re not mad?” Rosie asks.

“No, rather... disappointed in your inability to tell a lie,” Sherlock muses, taking a sip of his tea.

“How did you know? That I was telling a lie?” Rosie asks, curious.

Sherlock raises his eyebrow, “Now, if I tell you, will you be going around and telling lies constantly?”

“I want to know! Please!”

His lips twitch slightly. “Only lies have details. Ordinary people don’t have perfect memory so the more details you have, the more obvious the lie. Altering memories makes for better lies. For instant, instead of saying you had spaghetti for supper, you say that you had last night’s dinner, Chinese takeout. Also, you have a tell.”

“A tell?”

“Something you always do when you tell a lie. Everyone does.”

“Do you? Does Daddy?”

“Of course your father does. He’s appalling at lying,” Sherlock says, waving his hand in dismissal. “Next time he tells a lie, pay attention. You’ll be able to see it.”

“What’s your tell?” Rosie demands.

“That I’ll never tell,” Sherlock says into his cup as he takes another sip of tea.

“What’s mine?”

“You rub your nose when you tell a lie,” he says lightly. “Quite obvious.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m like Pinocchio!” she says, wiggling in her seat. “Okay. Next time I lie, I’ll do it better.”

“I’m sure you will,” Sherlock praises, standing up and dropping a kiss on her head as he passes.

“Hello, my loves,” John sings as he comes into the kitchen.

“Daddy!” Rosie leaps up from the table and hugs him tightly around the waist.

“Good evening, John,” Sherlock says, pressing a kiss against John’s temple as he sweeps forward to Rosie and lifts her up. “Just watch your daddy, I’ll make him tell a lie,” he whispers in her ear. “John,” he says with false innocence. “Did you mess with my sock index?”

“No. Must have been Mrs. Hudson.” John crosses his arms across his chest. “Why?”

Rosie’s eyes light up and turns to whisper in Sherlock’s ear, “He crosses his arms when he lies!”

“What were you two talking about?” John asks.

“Nothing!” Rosie says immediately, rubbing her nose. After a pause, she sighs and looks at Sherlock. “I did it again!”

Sherlock smiles and nods. “Just work on it, Rosamund,” he says. “You will improve.”

Life continues for 221B Baker Street for the next couple of years. Sherlock solves crimes. John blogs about it. Rosie makes life better. Mrs. Hudson insists that she isn’t their house keeper. Lestrade comes with crime and beer. Molly has grown into her own. Mycroft keeps an eye on life by surveillance cameras and minions. In other words, life is perfect.

It’s just after Rosie’s eleventh birthday when their world is tossed upside down.

“Happy anniversary, my dear,” John says as he comes home in the evening.

Sherlock smiles and preens happily as John gives him a kiss. “Happy anniversary, John.”

Rosie comes running down the stairs from her bedroom when she hears John’s voice. “Daddy!”

“Hello, my love!” John says as she gives him a hug. “How was your day?”

“Fun!” Rosie explains about her day as Sherlock starts dinner. A little while later, they are sitting at the table for supper, Rosie chattering about random things.

Suddenly there are footsteps on the stair. Sherlock frowns and stands up. “That’s not Mrs. Hudson or a client.”

John stands up too, but they can’t say anything else as a figure appears at the top of the stairs. The small family freezes as they recognize their visitor.

“Mummy?” Rosie stands up and runs around the table.

It is indeed Mary Watson who’s standing there, wearing a blue jacket and a baseball cap. Rosie runs to give her a hug while John and Sherlock stare in shock.

“Hello, love,” Mary says, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve grown so much. You’re going to be taller than me in no time.”

While Mary and Rosie talk, John’s hand shoots out and grips Sherlock’s wrist as if trying to make sure that at least Sherlock is there. After Rosie fills her with a brief summary of the past six years, Mary finally turns to John and Sherlock.

“Hello there, dear.”

Mary moves forward as if to give John a hug, but John takes half a step back that stops Mary in her tracks. She gives him a small smile and looks towards Sherlock. “Hello Sherlock.”

“Mary,” Sherlock says slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come home. I know it’s been years, but I’m back now. Thank you for taking care of my family, Sherlock, but I can take care of them now.”

John slams his hand on the table which stops Mary.

“Love?” she asks, but John shakes his head, breathing hard.

“You... you... No. You can’t disappear for six years and waltz back in to expect that I’ll take you back.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you did with Sherlock?”

Sherlock stiffens, but John growls, “That’s different. He died. You just up and left!”

“Père died?”

Sherlock and John freeze and immediately try to rectify their mistake.

“No! It was merely a lie.”

“Sort of, it’s complicated.”

Rosie frowns. “Why?”

His heart is breaking in his chest as Sherlock kneels down in front of Rosie. His voice is soft when he explains, “I loved your daddy so much that I died for him. I would do everything I could possibly do to protect you and your daddy.”

“You lied before, how do I know I’m not lying now?”

Sherlock takes her hands. “Look at John, Rosamund. He’s not lying.”

Still, Rosie is frowning and looks up at John. “Do you love Père?”

“Of course I do sweetheart,” John says.

“Do you love Mummy?”

John’s eyes didn’t leave Sherlock who isn’t looking at him. “I did. Which is why Sherlock and I have you, but I don’t love her any more.”

Mary frowns. “John, dear, you’re upset. Why don’t you come home with me so you can calm down.”

“I am home!” John yells, jerking his arm away from Mary as she tries to rest her hand on his bicep. “Sherlock is my home. Rosie is my home. Not you. Not anymore.”

“No.”

John whips around to face Sherlock. “What?”

Sherlock avoids his gaze. “She’s right. You forgave me when I came back. You need to give her the same chance.’

His face crumples and he reaches out to Sherlock who takes a step away. “Sherlock... we’ve discussed this. Please, I love you. Only you.”

Still Sherlock shakes his head. “As long as Mary is alive, she is your wife—“

“This lady was declared dead two years ago!” John yells. “She is no longer my wife!”

“Please John,” Sherlock says quietly. “She makes you happy.”

With that, he turns and flees from the flat without even his phone or coat.

The air is charged as the Watsons are left alone. John staring after Sherlock, Mary glaring at John, Rosie quietly shaking.

Suddenly, John whips around and points a shaking finger. “You... you... you!” he shouts. “The worst thing that I have ever done is let you into my life!”

He grabs his jacket and phone. “I’m going to go find my partner,” he snarls. “When I come back, you better be gone or else you’re going to be more than declared dead in absentia.”

 

Molly is very tired as she walks into her office, a coffee in her hand as she tries to wake herself up. Just as she was about to turn in fro an early night, there was a quiet knock on the door. It was Sherlock on the front step, his eyes blood shot as he quietly says, “Mary returned.”

For a hour after, Sherlock and Molly are sitting on her couch as Sherlock tells Molly what happened. He’s shaking as he voiced doubts that John would leave him for Mary. Even though Molly tried her best to reassure Sherlock that John loves him now and wouldn’t leave him for Mary, he still shook his head.

“I won’t lose John again. I have died and killed for him. I can do it again,” Sherlock said, his voice dark and before she could say anything, he spun around and left again. Molly tried to stay up for him but fell asleep somewhere before one in the morning. At around three in the morning, she was startled out of her sleep by the slam of a door announcing Sherlock’s return. Stumbling out of bed, she saw Sherlock disappear into the guest room without even a glance towards her. She sighed and tried to get back to sleep but failed miserably.

Hence the coffee.

Molly looks up in surprise as Dimmock comes into the morgue. “Hello, Detective Inspector, what brings you to the morgue today?”

“There was a murder and the body was sent here, I was hoping that you could put a rush on the autopsy.”

“Of course, I just got in, was the body brought in last night?”

“Yes, early this morning, found at Regent’s Park.”

Molly shuffles through the papers that have appeared since she left the last evening. “Ummm... Jane Doe, brought in at 3 a.m.?” Walking over to the correct table, she draws back the sheet and recoils with a gasp.

“Miss. Hooper? What’s wrong?”

“Thi... sh... she... I know her,” Molly gasps.

“You do?” Dimmock hurries to take out his notebook to take notes. “I’m sorry for you loss. What’s the name of your friend?”

“Mary,” Molly gasps out. “Mary Watson.”

 

Sally is stunned at the news.

“Mary Watson? She’s alive?”

“Dead in the mortuary, but estimated time of death is only 2a.m. this morning, so yeah, I guess she was alive.”

Molly Hooper is there, sitting in a chair and clutching her third coffee since she had arrived at the station with Dimmock less than a hour ago. Her hands are shaking so badly that Sally isn’t sure if it’s because of the shock or the caffeine.

“Are you sure it’s Mary?” Sally really can’t help but asking.

“I’m sure,” she says. “The only thing different is this.”

She pulls out a picture and shows a tattoo that is on Mary’s ankle. Sally leans over and frowns. It’s a strange symbol that Sally has never seen before.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure. It’s quite recent though,” Molly says. “Within the last year or two.”

“Dr. Hooper, How did you know that Mary was alive?” Dimmock asks.

“Sherlock showed up to my place around 9 in the evening and told me that Mary had shown up at Baker Street.”

“How did he react to that?”

Molly blinks confused. “I mean... he was upset because he thought that John would go back to Mary. He even said—“

She cuts herself off but Dimmock jumps at the unfinished sentence. “What did Holmes say?”

Sally feels sorry for her as Molly cowers under Dimmock’s harsh gaze. “He said... he said something about he would get John back no matter what,” she mumbles, unable to look anywhere except for the bottom of her coffee.

“He returned to your place? What time?”

“Around three in the morning.”

Dimmock nods as if he was expecting that answer. “Watson was found in Regent’s Park, not far from Baker Street. It was apparent from the crime scene that she had been moved there. Maybe Watson and Holmes had an altercation at 221B Baker Street and Holmes killed Watson. It wouldn’t take much for Holmes to take the body to Regent’s Park to be dumped there.”

Molly shakes her head vigorously. “That isn’t possible,” she says firmly. “It can’t. It can’t!”

“You said yourself that Holmes left your flat and didn’t come back for hours,” Dimmock presses. “You heard him return at three in the morning after the murder.”

“Yes, but—“

“And that he threatened to kill Mary before he left your house?”

Molly’s eyes are filling and her voice is barely loud enough to be heard as she whispers, “Yes.”

“See?”

“No, please, Sherlock isn’t like that,” Molly begs, but Dimmock is set turning to Sally to issue orders.

“Bring him in on suspicion of murder,” he says, “Get ready in 10. “

Molly turns to Sally, her eyes full of tears. “Please. Sally, do something! You know that Sherlock would not kill anybody, let alone Mary!”

She nods slowly, but there isn’t anything she could do. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m a police officer, there’s nothing I can do.”

She can’t look at the utter heartbreak on Molly’s face as she turns to follow Dimmock out of the office.

A short car ride later, they pull up on Baker Street on the opposite side as 221. The door opens and they spot Sherlock coming out of the flat with a duffle bag. Sherlock looks up as Dimmock and Sally getting out of their car. When Sally catches his eye, Sherlock turns heel and runs away down an alley.

“After him, Donovan!” Dimmock orders as he turns down a different alley, “I’ll cut him off.”

Sally obeys and charges after Sherlock, but she wonders how they will catch up with Sherlock who knows the streets of London with amazing accuracy. She shakes her head to clear it and hurries determinedly on after Sherlock.

As she turns the corner, she skids to a stop as she sees the scene in front of her.

Greg is standing at the far end, a gun visible in his hand, but down by the side. Sherlock is halfway down the alley and was just about to run back the way he came when Sally came to the scene blocking his exit and Dimmock catches up, panting slightly.

“Sherlock, come quietly with us and it’ll be alright.”

Sherlock spins around in a circle, looking for a way out, but finds nothing. He looks towards Greg. “Please...”

“Sherlock, don’t make me do this...” Greg says, his voice full of pain.

“I’ll leave and never come back,” Sherlock says. “Let me go.”

The pain is drifting off of Lestrade in waves as he lifts the gun to level with Sherlock. “On your knees.” His voice is quiet, but louder than any gunshot.

Sherlock doesn’t move for a very long time and when he finally does, he sinks down to his knees, his hands raised up above his head.

Hours later, Sally is watching the interrogation through the one way window. Sherlock is sitting up straight in the chair, his hands folded in front of him on the table and not saying a word as Lestrade lays out the case in front of him. They had found a bloodied shirt and a gun in the duffle bag that Sherlock had on him at the time of the arrest. The fragile case they had before they had left the police station first has grown up into a nearly solid case if only Sherlock would say something. Anything. For hours, this goes on without even a peep from Sherlock.

“This murder is so sloppy,” Lestrade says, gesturing to the files on the table. “Come on, Sherlock. Both of us know that if you murdered someone, no one would be able to find the body or the murder weapon. This is clearly someone else. Just tell me you didn’t do this. Please... Sherlock...”

Finally at long last, Sherlock speaks. “I applaud you for your excellent police work, take your case to court, Lestrade, but I will not say anything.”

“Sherlock,” Greg says with a sigh. “You didn’t do this murder! Save your own skin!”

Shaking his head, Sherlock says, “I will say nothing further.”

Greg sighs and stands up. As many times as Sally had said that Sherlock Holmes would one day murder someone, but she can’t believe the words are leaving Greg’s mouth. “Sherlock Holmes, you are under arrest for the murder of Mary Watson.”

Sherlock doesn’t move as Lestrade motions to an officer to bring Sherlock to the holding cell. Sherlock doesn’t protest or say anything as he’s cuffed and lead to a solitary holding cell. Lestrade watches sadly as Sherlock doesn’t react as he is released from the handcuffs, standing stock still, facing the back of the cell.

As Greg closes the door, he nearly thinks that he hears Sherlock say, “Thank you, Greg,” and he hopes it isn’t actually a farewell.


	2. Cometh the Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new death sheds light on Mary's murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tagged this canon divergence after s3, in this universe, A.G.R.A doesn't exist, except Mary's real name is Rosamund, John read Mary's USB, Mary didn't die and instead disappeared, and John and Sherlock finally got their shit together and started a romantic relationship.

Months later, Sherlock who still hadn’t broken his silence plead no contest to the murder of Mary Watson and was subsequently incarcerated. What’s more worrying is that John and Rosie have seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. Also vexing is the lack of Sherlock’s brother poking his nose into everyone’s business. Lestrade is nearly certain that Sherlock couldn't have done the murder. If he had done the murder, there wouldn't be a trace, but 221B was covered with a blood splatter from Mary's wounds. From crime scene evidence, Sherlock and Mary were seated at the table together, a gun sitting on the table between them, Mary stood up and Sherlock shot her five times. The crime scene evidence, lack of other suspects to question, and without a solid alibi, it was hard to prove his innocence. 

“Well, I’m off for today,” Lestrade says as he passes Sally’s desk on the way out.

“Right, going to go see Holmes later?” Sally asks.

Lestrade lets out a loud sigh and nods. “Might as well, don’t have anything better to do.”

“Well, give the Freak my regards.”

Not wanting to waste time on correcting her, Lestrade just nods and leaves. Every time there are visitations, Lestrade goes to visit Sherlock. Each time, Sherlock is escorted into the room, but who ever comes through the door isn’t Sherlock Holmes that Lestrade knows. Sherlock is gaunt and his eyes are empty, he doesn’t react to anything that Lestrade says. Yet still, Lestrade brings in cold cases to discuss with him and pleads with him to speak up on the case. Every time, Sherlock says nothing and after thirty minutes, Sherlock is escorted back to his cell. This week he isn’t expecting anything different when he gets to the prison. He sits at the metal table and shuffles some papers around while he waits. When Sherlock walks in, Lestrade winces at the sight of him in his blue prison uniform and the dark shadows under his eyes. 

“Hey, Sherlock,” he says gently as Sherlock is seated across from him. “Has he...” his question directed at the prison guard trails off as he isn’t sure how he wants to end it. Ate? Slept? Moved? Talked? Tried to escape? Shot up the walls?

The prison guard shakes his head. “Hasn’t moved or spoke since the moment he came here,” he says. “Shame really.”

Lestrade nods and when the guard leaves, he turns he attention to Sherlock. “Hey, Sherlock,” he says softly but firmly. “How have you been?”

Still nothing.

“I have this case,” Lestrade says, opening the file. Sherlock doesn’t move while Lestrade lays out the case. This case is shorter than most and by the end of retelling the case, Lestrade has some ideas the he should chase down. He misses how Sherlock would’ve ripped him apart for being an incompetent police officer in his opinion, but Sherlock doesn’t say anything.

After finishing, Lestrade closes the file with a sigh. He sits back and studies Sherlock for a moment, wondering when the last time Sherlock slept or ate more than a mouthful of food.

“It’s been two months Sherlock,” he muses aloud. “If you don’t say anything soon, your court day will come up and surely the jury will find you guilty. After Mary’s death, we haven’t been able to find John or Rosie.”

His phone starts ringing and he glances at the screen. “It’s Molly,” he announces to Sherlock as he picks up. “Hey Molly.”

“Greg, I need you go come down to the mortuary now.”

“Molly, I’m off for the next couple of days, ask Sally or—“

“No, Greg, it has to be you.”

He pauses at the sound of her voice and nods. “Okay, I’ll be there in 15.”

“Alright.” She hangs up and Lestrade furrows his brow as he ponders what could be bothering the pathologist.

“I got to go, Sherlock,” he says, just in case he’s listening. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

As predicted, he receives no reply. Lestrade leaves the prison and arrives at the morgue as promised.

Molly is waiting impatiently at one of the benches. She’s looking at something under a microscope but as soon as she hears the doors open, she jumps up and grabs Greg’s arm, dragging him over to the next room where the bodies are kept. “I got this corpse this afternoon and I was going through the regular routine when I saw this.” She pulls back the sheet at the corpse’s feet to reveal a tattoo.

Greg leans forward and frowns. “That’s the same...”

“As the one on Mary’s body. Exactly!” Molly says, wringing her hands together. “Does this have anything to do with her murder?”

“I don’t know,” Greg says honestly. “Do you have the file?”

She nods and hands him a file and she outlines the details as he looks at crime scene photos.

“Thaddeus Sherman, 56, local manager of the McDonalds, found dead by concerned employees when he failed to show up for a week. Estimated time of death is sometime on Sunday,” Molly summarizes. “Would nearly be called natural charges except how the body, way past rigor mortis, is as stiff as a board.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade muses as he looks over the pictures. “Still...”

“I ran tests for poisons, including ones that Sherlock has developed detection methods for, they’ve all came up clean.”

Lestrade nods and looks through Thaddeus’ things which were being kept in an evidence box on a table near by. “Phone,” Moly offers.

“Thanks.” Lestrade takes it and after a bit of maneuvering, they manage to unlock the phone.

“Text on Sunday night, 10:43,” Molly reads over his shoulder. “’Confirm location. I have key from R.’ R... as in Rosamund? As in Mary’s real name?”

He shrugs and glances over the file again. “Locked room... same tattoo... suspicious text... undetermined cause of death...”

Molly studies his face. “What are you thinking?”

Lestrade snaps the file close. “Time to call in the big guns.”

She frowns as Lestrade hurries towards the exit. “Big guns? Who?”

“Who else would it be except for Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

 

The prison is surprised to see Lestrade again, and after a little bit of haggling, he is let in to see Sherlock in a conference room, different than the visitation room that they usually meet in. Sherlock is lead in and sat down, not reacting to the change in routine.

“Sherlock, there’s been a murder and we think it’s connected to Mary.”

Lestrade runs through the details, pushing the pictures into Sherlock’s field of view, but still, Sherlock doesn’t react, just staring blankly at the pictures without seeing them.

“Do you have any ideas who did this?” Lestrade asks. “Any inkling or hint?”

Still nothing.

“Sherlock! You need to speak now!” Lestrade demands. “Snap out of it! Please! For John’s sake! For me, or for Mycroft. Please. Speak!”

For the first time in months, Lestrade sees a change in Sherlock’s expression. Slowly Sherlock’s brow is furrowing and he blinks slowly a couple of times.

Holding his breath, Lestrade spreads the pictures out in front of Sherlock again. “Look. We found him dead, see? Thaddeus Sherman. He has a tattoo on his ankle and it was the same one that Mary had tattooed on hers. He had just texted someone asking about a location before his death. Then he dies unexpectedly. Here’s the crime scene photos, look at them Sherlock! Please! Save yourself! For John and Rosie.”

This time, it’s truly a frown that spreads across Sherlock’s face and his mouth moves silently. When he speaks, it’s so rough from disuse that it’s barely recognizable. “For Rosie?”

Lestrade wants to jump up and down in celebration, but he manages to keep it down as he says, “Yes, for Rosie. You’re Sherlock Holmes, so solve this case.”

 

Sherlock pours over the pictures for a full 54 seconds before he looks up and says, “Poison.”

“We didn’t find anything in the autopsy.”

Lestrade wants to scream and dance when Sherlock rolls his eyes at him. “There are such things untraceable poisons. I for one know at least forty different poisons that are completely untraceable in autopsies. I’m sure Molly has tested for a couple once she knew that this was connected to Mary’s case and she isn’t a complete idiot. I can compile a list of poisons for her to check for but it would be more efficient if I was allowed to see the body.”

At this, Lestrade rolls his eyes. “It isn’t like I could bust you out of jail, Sherlock, you’ve only protested your innocence in the past three minutes!”

Sherlock waves his hand in dismissal and flips through the file again. “Thaddeus Sherman. Mary and John had a... _friend_ named Bart Sherman.”

Ignoring Sherlock’s inflection on the word ‘friend’, Lestrade asks, “John’s friend or Mary’s friend?”

“Mary’s. Didn’t mention him very often. Just once or twice. I may have... found their relation when I was planning the wedding.”

“Do you think John could tell us more about the Sherman’s?”

Sherlock hesitates, but nods. “If Bart is from Mary’s past, John would know. He read her USB.”

“Okay, good,” Lestrade says, nodding. “Sherlock, you need to tell me where John is hiding.”

Sherlock hesitates long enough for Lestrade to sigh and hit the table. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock. We’re trying to prove your innocence!”

“And what if by proving my innocence, you’re commending John?” Sherlock fires back.

It takes a long moment for Lestrade to find an answer. “Think, Sherlock, don’t you believe that John is innocent? Who ever killed Mary and Sherman might be looking for something. You said yourself that John has read Mary’s USB so he must know everything. We’ll get in contact with Mycroft to protect John and Rosie. So please, where’s John?”

Sherlock lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes. “Briarbrae.”

 

A hour later, Lestrade and Molly are at the step of a old country cottage. An old woman opens the door for them. “Yes?” she says with a heavy Welsh accent.

“Professor Annie Phelps?” Lestrade asks.

“That’s me,” the old professor says warily.

“We’re looking for John and Rosie Watson,” Lestrade says. “Are they here?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Have a good day,” she says and moves to close the door, but Lestrade puts his foot in the door to stop it from closing all the way.

“May we come in? We’re with Scotland Yard from London.”

After a brief hesitation, Prof. Phelps nods slowly and steps aside to let them in. the moment the door closes behind them, there is a cold muzzle of a gun pressed against Lestrade’s head and he hears Molly squeak as there’s another gun pointed at her by Prof. Phelps.

“Alright, just calm—“ Lestrade says in his most diplomatic tone before he’s cut off.

“Greg? Molly?”

He jumps at the familiar voice and the gun disappears. Turning around, he breaks into a grin when he sees the familiar face of John Watson, though like Sherlock, it looks like John hasn’t been sleeping or eating very well. John guiltily tucks his gun back into his waistband. “How did you find me?”

“Sherlock told us,” Molly supplies.

John nods slowly and sighs. “Let’s go sit down,” he says, jerking his head towards the kitchen.

“I’ll put on some tea,” Prof. Phelps said, shuffling towards the stove.

As they all get settled down at the kitchen table and sip at their tea until Molly breaks the silence with, “So why here?”

“Professor Phelps is Sherlock’s teacher from university,” John explains. “Sherlock sent Rosie and I here the night of the murder. Safe from prosecution...”

“What happened that night? What did you see?” Lestrade asks gently.

“I... Mary just came home out of the blue and everything was so wrong. Sherlock ran off and I went after him but I couldn’t find him. I returned to Baker Street, but when I got there.... there was blood everywhere. There was a gun on the table and I picked it up. It was still warm. Then Sherlock walked in too. He saw me with the gun and he demanded I leave right then and there. He gave me Professor Phelps’ address and took the gun. Sher... Sherlock told me that I should not contact him or protest in any sort of way.”

“Why did you?”

John snorts and shakes his head. “He’s Sherlock Bloody Holmes, he always swans off without telling me what his plans are. I thought that this was one of those cases at first but now...”

“It’s okay, John.” Greg is quick to reassure. “So you thought that Sherlock did it and Sherlock thought that you did it and in reality, neither of you pulled the trigger. Now we have both of your stories, we can finally get Sherlock out of jail.”

“First you’re going to have to find the real killer,” John says bitterly. “And how are you going to do that? Sherlock wiped the gun of prints before I left and it’s been months since the murder.”

“We’ll think of something and we think we got a new lead on the case,” Greg says. “There was a murder and it seems to be connected to Mary.”

“In what way?”

“Thaddeus Sherman was murdered in his home yesterday and he has the same tattoo as Mary did.”

“Mary? She doesn’t have tattoos.”

“It’s quite new according,” offered Molly, fumbling with a file to find a picture of the autopsy. “Both on the ankle. Both recent.”

“Sherlock says that you know a Bart Sherman?”

John nods slowly, his eyes not leaving the picture of Mary’s autopsy. “He was Mary’s friend. He died of a heart attack um... two years after we were married. Then... I read her USB and figured out where they met. Thaddeus and Bart were twins, Thaddeus was one of Mary’s assassin contacts.”John suddenly trails off and groans. “They went after the treasure!”

“Treasure?” Molly asks.

“Yeah, on the USB was notes about a treasure somewhere in India. They must have been after the treasure and found it. Mary must have been betrayed for a larger share of the treasure.”

“Seems like it,” Lestrade agrees. “But if Thaddeus killed Mary for the treasure, who killed Thaddeus?”

“Sign of four.”

“I’m sorry?” Molly says.

“That tattoo. It’s called the sign of four according to Mary’s USB. Mary, Thaddeus, Bart and Janice Small.”

“So we should be looking for this Janice Small?” Lestrade says.

“The logic follows,” John says.

Lestrade nods and closes the file with a flourish. “Alright, let’s get back to London. Will you come with us to see Sherlock, John?”

John smiles. “Yeah, I would like that.”

But Molly is still looking around. “Where’s Rosie?” she asks.

Dropping his gaze, John says, “She ran away. I think she saw the killer.”

“Why?”

“She was with Mary the night of the murder, but when I got back to the flat, she was gone. Sherlock sent me here and promised that he would send Wiggins to find her. A day later, one of Sherlock’s homeless network comes by with a note from Rosie that just said that she was safe. I know I’m such a terrible father for letting her wander around the streets for so long but I’ve been sending her money—“

“It’s okay, John,” Molly says, patting his arm. “When we get back to London, we’ll go see Sherlock and Lestrade and Sally can go contact Sherlock’s homeless network to find Rosie.”

“Yeah, okay.” John nods. “Back to London.”


	3. Crime & Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case is solved.

“John!”

As soon as the door opens, John is greeted by an armful of consulting detective. John chuckles and pats Sherlock’s hair that’s cut shorter than usual. John tucks his nose against Sherlock’s neck, breathing him in, but he smells different now he doesn’t have his poncy shampoos and aftershave. Still John clings onto Sherlock for a bit longer, because now he has Sherlock in his arms.

“Alright, stand apart, you two,” the guard says and they reluctantly part, though Sherlock is still clinging onto the edge of John’s sleeve.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asks, studying John from head to toe. “Are you alright?”

John smiles. Sherlock hates repetition and it warms John’s heart when he becomes the only person who can make Sherlock repeat himself. “I’m alright, sweetheart,” he says gently, rubbing Sherlock’s hand. “And you?”

Sherlock nods quickly. “John, I need to apologize. I jumped to conclusions and it has cost us so much time.”

“It’s alright, Sherlock,” John says gently. “It’s all fine. I’m sorry too.”

His lips twitch up but not quite into a smile. “So... the treasure.”

“Yeah,” John nods. “It seems like Mary dug herself into a nice little hole.”

“Grave is more like it,” Sherlock says in a light tone.

John has to giggle at that and he nods. “I wonder where it is.”

“So you don’t know from the USB?”

“No, perhaps where it was in the first place, but Mary and Thaddeus must have moved it after and who knows where it has gone now,” John says.

“Hmmm... perhaps after I am exonerated, we could go on a little treasure hunt of our own and until then, we could make the most of conjugal visits,” Sherlock suggested with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

They both fell into a fit of giggles. Sherlock’s eyes dropped to John’s lips before flickering back up to his eyes. “I never... I always said that love is found on the loosing side, but I find if I’m loosing with you, I don’t mind.”

John giggles and takes his hands. “I’m hoping that we can do more than lose together.”

“Those were my thoughts exactly,” Sherlock declares. “While I was in solitary, I spent my time in my mind palace and I made a whole different life with an imaginary you. We had Rosie in our arms, and Mr. Hudson downstairs, Lestrade came with cases, Mycroft watched us with public surveillance cameras.”

“That’s what we do in Baker Street already, sweetheart,” John says tenderly.

“Yes, but we were married. In my mind palace I mean.”

John froze for a moment before he slowly said, “Are you...”

“Marry me. John. You. Hamish Watson. Please. Marry me.”

His face softens and breaks into a grin. “Of course I will,” he says tenderly, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock, but Sherlock breaks it off with a gaps.

“A ring!”

John chuckles. “What?”

“A ring! You propose with a ring!”

“Sherlock, it’s okay—“

But Sherlock is already moving, fumbling through his sparse belongings. John has to laugh at the odds and ends that Sherlock must have horded during his imprisonment. He finally finds a piece of wire and twists it into a ring, and wraps the ends with a stray piece of thread. Grinning triumphantly, he picks up John’s hand and says, “John Watson, will you marry me?”

John laughs and nods, letting Sherlock slip the ring onto his ring finger. “Thank you, Sherlock. It’s beautiful.”

Sherlock preens from the praise. As nice the moment was, it was cut short as the door opens again and the guard and Molly come in. “Sherlock, it’s wonderful to see you again!” she says giving him a hug that surprisingly he doesn’t protest to. “John, Lestrade texted. Mycroft finally managed to get out of meetings and Sally and Greg found Rosie and want us to meet them at Scotland Yard.”

John shoots Sherlock a glance, but Sherlock is already nodding. “Go to our daughter,” he says. “I’ll be here... putting in an application for a conjugal visit.”

Laughing, John swoops down and kisses Sherlock on the lips once more. “I’ll be back for you, Sherlock. I promise.”

“Of course you will,” Sherlock says, haughtily but he breaks into a smile soon after as John rolls his eyes.

“Bye Sherlock,” Molly says as the guard starts to usher them out of the room, but they stop as Sherlock calls out John’s name once more.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

John smiles. “I love you too.”

 

While John and Sherlock are reuniting, Lestrade and Sally are walking through the back alleys of London after a tip from Wiggins on Rosie’s whereabouts.

“So suppose that Rosie saw the killer, why did she run?” Lestrade asks as they start walking through the dark alley ways.

Sally shrugs as she swings her flashlight down another alley. “I guess that Sherlock thought that she ran because she saw John killing Mary and vice versa for John. In reality, she probably just got spooked by the shooting. Decided to run. When she heard the news, she thought that what she was actually Sherlock. Couldn't come home to face John.”

“Rosie and John love each other,” Greg argues. “I highly doubt that she would willingly stay away from John for that long.”

“I guess so,” Sally says as they turn the corner. As they shine their light into corner, suddenly a small form bursts out of the shadows and tries to make its way past Sally and Greg. Thankfully, Greg has quick reflexes and he manages to grab Rosie by the arm as she nearly makes it past him.

Rosie is skinnier than the last time he saw her and covered with grime, but she has surprising strength as she fights Greg’s tight grip. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

“Whoa! Whoa! Rosie! It’s me! Uncle Greg!”

She stops her thrashing and looks up at the familiar face. “Uncle Greg?” she asks nearly in wonder. As he nods, she looks down. “Are you here to arrest me?”

“Arrest you? Of course not! We’re here to take you home to your daddy.”

“We think you have information about your mother’s murder,” Sally adds.

Rosie eyes them suspiciously and mumbles something.

“What was that, sweetie?” Greg asks gently as he takes out a tissue from his pocket and rubs away some of the dirt on her cheeks.  

“I want my daddy,” she says quietly, “and Père... and Uncle Mycroft.”

Greg smiles gently at her and gives her a gentle squeeze on the arm. “Of course. Let’s go find your daddy and Uncle Mycroft.”

A little while and a tearful reunion later, John is sitting beside Rosie, nearly unable to stop himself from constantly brushing her hair or handing her a new sandwich or biscuit. Molly had left, but now Mycroft is lurking in the background with his umbrella as usual when Lestrade and Sally come back to Lestrade’s office with a file.

“Hey, how are we doing?” Lestrade asks.

“Wonderful,” John says, grinning at his daughter. “Brilliant. More than brilliant.”

Lestrade smiles at the family. “I’m sorry that I have to break up this reunion but we want Sherlock out of jail to join us as soon as possible, so Rosie, can we ask you a couple of questions?”

She hesitates and John runs his fingers through her curls. “It’s alright, sweetheart, just tell Uncle Greg what you know.”

“On the night that your mother was killed, we know you where there.”

“I was,” she says weakly.

“You saw the killer, right? You walked in on the murder, that’s why you ran, isn’t it?”

Her eyes widened slightly, but then she nods quickly. “I... saw the killer,” Rosie says quietly. “She... she was wearing a blue jacket and... and a baseball cap... and she had a beautiful necklace.”

“Necklace?” John interrupts, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, it was pretty and I wanted it,” Rosie says, looking over at her father with something unreadable in her eyes.

“Can you describe the necklace?” Lestrade prods when nobody says anything for a moment.

“It... it was silver and ummm... it had a some pattern on it I think? It also had a gem in the centre. It was a very pretty shade of pink,” Rosie says.

“Did you see the woman’s face?” Sally asks gently. “Would you be able to identify her?”

She nods, her eyes flicking between the adults in the room. “I-I guess so?”

Sally brings out a photo line up. “Is she in this line up?” she asks.

Rosie hesitates again and her eyes are flicking everywhere. “I... I...” she lowers her head and looks closely at the pictures, finally pointing at one person. “Her.”

Lestrade smiles. “Janice Small, we got her.”

“Thank you, Rosie, you did so well,” Sally praises, giving her arm a gently squeeze.

Rosie nods without looking up and rubs her nose.

“Is it okay if we return home now?” John asks. “I think Rosie would like to have a lie down in a real bed, right sweetheart?”

She nods and stands up with John. Mycroft, a silent figure in the room until this moment, also stands and announces, “I’ll escort them home, Detective Inspector,” he says with a tone of indifference. “Shall we?” He holds the door open for the Watsons and looks back at Greg and Sally. “I will have my PA send details on Janice Small. I trust that you will see that she is brought in.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” Sally says.

Greg grins and says, “Time to bring Sherlock home.”

 

The information that Mycroft is alarmingly complete even though it had only been thirty minutes since he had sent out his assistants to collect information on Janice Small. In no time, Greg and Sally arrive at the boat house that Janice Small is working in.

“Hello there,” Greg says, flashing his police badge to the scrawny boy who according to Mycroft’s file is the son of the owner. “Does Janice Small work here?”

“Yeah, she’s over there.”

Sally and Greg look over to see a woman working on a boat. “Oi! You there.”

As soon as Janice spots them, she drops her tools and runs out of the door. Prepared for this, Greg and Sally take off after her.

The chase leads them along the Thames, Janice pushing through the crowds to get ahead of Greg and Sally. “Police! Stop!”

They are approaching the Waterloo Bridge without Janice showing a sign of slowing down. “Get out of the way,” Lestrade yells at startled pedestrians. “Police!”

They are gaining ground on Janice by the time they get onto the bridge. She glances over her shoulder at them before she turns to the side of the bridge.

“No! Stop!”

But it’s too late, Janice Small throws herself off the bridge into the Thames.

“No!” Lestrade rushes to the side to look over, but there’s no sign of Janice Small resurfacing. “Get people out there to recover her body now!”

“Boss, it might take a little while—“

“She’s our best chance of getting Sherlock out of jail,” Lestrade growls as he pulls out his phone. “We need to find her body.”

Hours later, the coast guard finds the body in the river. Greg kneels down beside the body and searches through her pockets. He draws out a leather bag and from it, out comes a collection of beautiful pearls. Grinning, Lestrade looks up at Sally and says, “Even without her testimony, we have enough evidence to exonerate Sherlock.”

 

It’s the quickest Lestrade had ever seen the judicial system work as a couple of days later, Sherlock strides into Lestrade’s office at Scotland Yard, fresh out of prison. He narrows his eyes as he scans the room, finding Lestrade, Sally and Mycroft, but not the people who matter to him.

“Where’s John and Rosie?” he demands.

“It’s nice to see you out and about,” Sally says, ignoring Sherlock’s demand.

Sherlock’s lips twitched into a smile and he nods in acknowledgment. “I guess I would have to say your adequate police work did do wonders for my stint in prison.”

“Oh, wow a warm thank you, can you believe?” Lestrade says to Mycroft with a grin.

Sherlock scowls, but there is a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. Looking down, the smile disappears. “Where did you get this?” Sherlock asks, picking up the necklace that Rosie identified as Janice Small’s.

“Found that under Mary’s body. It’s what freed you, that charm, Rosie identified it as the killer’s,” Lestrade says. “I was just about to send that to the DA’s office.”

At that, Sherlock closes his eyes as if he’s in great pain.

“Holmes?" Sally asks asks.

Sherlock spins around and runs out of the office.

“Hey! Sherlock!” Lestrade yells after him, but one look at Mycroft stops him. Mycroft has a funny look as he steadfast ignores Lestrade’s glare. “You know something.”

Mycroft lets out a loud sigh and leans against his umbrella. “Yes.”

“You let your brother sit in jail as you knew the answer?” It infuriates Greg as Mycroft doesn’t reply. “Why?”

“On December 5th of last year, Sherlock Holmes went to the mall where he brought presents for his... friends. For young Rosamund Watson, he got a necklace.”

“A neck... he... that means...”

“You have finally come to the correct conclusion, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft says softly.

Lestrade drops into his chair in stunned silence and Sally sputters in disbelief, “Why didn’t Sherlock see through this? He always seems twenty steps in front of us.”

Mycroft raises his eyebrow. “Whenever the Watsons are involved, Sherlock thinks with his heart, not his head. Perhaps if he had the perfect logical mind, he would’ve seen through this at the very beginning, but he loves Rosie more than anything in the world and he would never think of Rosie as fallible.”

He stands up and straightens his suit. “Now you know, Inspector, Sargent, do what you must with that information.” He leaves the office with a swish of his umbrella, leaving the two officers stunned behind him. 

Sally turns to Lestrade in shock. "Rosie?" she says again. Lestrade nods slowly and she shakes her head. Ever the law abiding police officer, Sally sighs and says, "I'll go add it to the report. Send out a BOLO for Dr. Watson and Rosie." 

Lestrade wants to stop her as she leaves the office, but he's frozen. This can't be true. Not sweet Rosie.  

 

Sherlock’s feet pound on the London pavement as he rushes through the streets desperately trying to get to Baker Street before... he’s not sure.

His mind races back through the past half year to the night that Mary was killed. He had returned back to Baker Street prepared to do everything to keep John, but when he arrived, Mary was no where to be seen. Instead there was blood and John standing there with a gun in his hands. Immediately, Sherlock took the gun from John and ordered him to go to his old professor’s house who he had run into at the market the other day and she had mentioned that she was looking for a part time caregiver. John would be able to hide out in Woking. He bustled John out and promised that he would get the Homeless Network to send Rosie to join him.

In the next couple hours, he rushed to clean the blood in a sloppy way that would look like an amateur had tried to cover up the murder, enough for a conviction. He does notice where the blood goes, but he doesn’t have time to follow it. Instead Sherlock finds Wiggins and gives him instructions to find Rosie. He returns to Molly’s place and closes the door with enough force that he knows Molly would be able to hear. Sherlock hates that he’s putting Molly in this position, but he needed to protect John.

Now, Sherlock groans as he realizes that in that chaos, he had never asked John if he had actually committed the murder. As always, it was a mistake to draw conclusions without having all the data first. If he had just seen Mary’s body, he would’ve known that John hadn’t killed her.

But Rosie! It couldn’t be Rosie. He needs to get back to Baker Street to see John and Rosie waiting there for him, but in his heart of hearts, he knows that isn’t the case because neither of them were there at the jail when he was released or at Scotland Yard with Mycroft. The moment that he saw Rosie’s necklace and learned that Mary had it on the night she died, everything had suddenly fallen in to place. Rosie and Mary must have been reuniting, but Rosie has inherited her father’s temper. Mary had a gun and Rosie grabbed it, shooting Mary five times. Mary had tried to grab for Rosie, but she only grasped Rosie’s necklace, yanking it off her neck. Dropping the gun, Rosie ran out of Baker Street via the back door. Mary must have also left the same way in a way to cover up it was Rosie who killed her. Damn sentiment.

Ignoring the cars honking at him, Sherlock sprints across the street to reach 221B. He fumbles with his key a couple of times. He bursts into his flat, thankful that Mrs. Hudson wasn’t home, and sprints up the 17 stairs to the upstairs. The flat is empty and nothing seems out of place. Mrs. Hudson seems to have kept the flat as usual and even did some cleaning. The only new thing was a envelope addressed to Sherlock stabbed into the wall with the jack knife next to the smiley face on the wall. With wobbling legs, he staggers to the wall and wrenches the knife out to grab the note. In messy doctor’s scrawl, the letter read thus:

_Sherlock._

_By the time you read this, Rosie and I will be far away. I am very sorry that as soon as we finally have found our place beside each other, it is the worst timing, but we’ve both been alone before, we will be okay when we’re apart._

_You would’ve been proud of Rosie. She was brilliant when she deduced by Sally’s behavior which person in the line up they thought was the killer. She thought fast and used everything you taught her. I guess there’s only one thing with her flawless record: Rosie thought I would leave you for Mary. She didn’t want our life at Baker Street to end and when Mary had shown up, she assumed the worst and shot Mary to prevent us from separating._

_Unfortunately, this tragedy has still driven us apart. Please don’t try to find us. London still needs you, Sherlock Holmes, to solve all their mysteries. There will be a time that is right for us to return, until then, take care of yourself and remember that I love you. I always have and I always will._

_Believe me to be sincerely yours_

_John._

Sherlock sank to the floor, his legs numb. “John...”

Out of the envelope falls a simple silver engagement ring and Sherlock breaks down into tears.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue left!


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short epilogue

When the murder had happened, Mycroft was away on diplomatic negotiations and by the time that he returned, Sherlock had already accepted a plea bargain and was refusing to speak to anyone. The pictures of the crime scene were so messy that they were no better than not even seeing the crime scene at all. To Mycroft’s deepest shame, there were times that Mycroft thought that yes, maybe Sherlock had shot Mary five times to keep John. As soon as John returned to London and they had that fateful reunion at Scotland Yard, Mycroft understood the whole story. Rosie had shot her mother and John and Sherlock assumed the other did it. Sherlock took the fall protecting John. Rosie had run away thinking that her fathers would hate her if they knew what she did. When she and John reunited, she saw how much her daddy missed and loved her and that he could see through her lies right away. When John announces that he’s taking Rosie back home, Mycroft knows what John is actually planning to do.

When Sherlock realized the truth, he had immediately run back to Baker Street and he would be greeted by nobody. Mycroft waits for a hour before requesting his driver to take him to Baker Street. There are no sounds from the upper floor as Mycroft climbs the stairs. Sherlock speaks as soon as Mycroft walks into the flat. “You knew...”

This time, Mycroft doesn’t bother to beat around the bush. “Yes.”

Sherlock turns around and Mycroft somehow is both surprised and unsurprised that there are tears in Sherlock’s eyes. “Why... why does he love... why doesn’t he love me enough to take me with him?”

Mycroft doesn’t reply and Sherlock turns back to his violin. Sensing his dismissal, Mycroft gives Sherlock a quick nod and turns towards the door.

“Mycroft...”

A soft whisper stops him in his tracks and he looks back at Sherlock’s back. He’s holding a ring, tracing it reverently with his finger. After a long moment, he slips the ring onto his left ring finger and nods to himself. When he speaks, Sherlock’s voice is so quiet that Mycroft nearly doesn’t hear what he says over the bustle of London outside.

“Make sure they’re safe. Please.”

It’s the same plead as the one that he had heard from a man with his daughter, boarding a plane to start a new life. “Take care of him and tell Sherlock I love him,” said the man who used to be known as John Watson. Now his name is William Grace and with his daughter Amy he is starting a new life in New Zealand.

Mycroft often said that it would take Sherlock Holmes to trick him, but he knows it also takes Mycroft Holmes to fool Sherlock. Perhaps some day, Mycroft will tell Sherlock if he hasn’t found them by then. But for now, Sherlock Holmes is in back where he belongs in two hundred and twenty one B Baker Street.

Mycroft doesn’t tell Sherlock this last part and with an almost imperceptible nod, Mycroft says, “Goodbye, brother mine.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! this is a pretty self indulgent fic. i wrote this because i wanted to read it and so i hope that you have enjoyed it as well


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